


Nine Years (Too Long)

by RainySpringMorning



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Cherik - Freeform, Dreams and Nightmares, Erik is in prison (still), I Will Go Down With This Ship, Light Angst, M/M, Memories, Poor Charles, Shaw Being Evil, Short One Shot, Telepathy gone out the window, The canon is off a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainySpringMorning/pseuds/RainySpringMorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the loss of his legs, Charles has occasionally suffered nightmares - usually an indicator when he's asleep that the serum has worn off and his telepathy is kicking in again. In this instance, he accidentally reaches out for a mind he hasn't heard in nine years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine Years (Too Long)

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those works that "just happened". That statement is reductant as ALL of my works fall into the "just happened" category. The odd one of you might find similarities between this and another one I wrote (cannot... remember... the title... for... the life... of me!) so consider it a slight rehash for this year. Just like the movies that are remade every decade. Yay!
> 
> Disclaimer: X-Men and all related characters belong to 20th Century Fox. And Marvel. And stuff. Y'know the drill.

A staggering sense of wholehearted loss erupts as Erik slides the cursed helmet over his head, abruptly forming an impenetrable shield around his mind that immediately raises a sensation of blistering hatred in the depths of Charles very being. Flailing frantically at the sudden break in the tether to Erik’s mind, Charles’ powers search for another place to land – a bird whose usual branch is occupied and is forced to tilt mid-landing before it crashes; finding one, he lunges and relaxes into the embrace but suddenly recoils, a bolt of sickening terror clenching his gut. He sees pleasure in suffering, the sins laid out upon a table without shame, a mind of bygone days yet futuristic in the worst ideals. The identity of the mind slips his grasp again and again, the name changing over and over, decades piling one upon another until Charles has no idea who this monstrous figure really _truly_ is.

Forcing himself to see through their eyes, he sees his own reflection and shudders from where he hunches in the ruined shell of the jet. Huddling as small as he possibly can, nervous of the currents of volatile energy surging through their veins, he begs for the small mercy that Sebastian Shaw fails to notice him occupying a corner of his mind.

Erik glares at him in triumph, his eyes hooded by the shadows cast by the adopted helmet casing his head. _Erik, don’t do this!_ He can hear his heart beating frantically with his desperate pleas. He can feel Shaw’s own ravenous delight as he stares across at the man he created, the monster he brought to light, the creation he desires to twist and bend to his will. Charles knows Shaw wants to break Erik, again and again, and to build him up a worse demon every time. His purposes are tyrannical, far too dark and disturbing for Charles to linger on for too long. He yearns to scream but he is silenced, chaining the monster down while he stares into the blazing eyes of his friend.

The metal-bender suddenly morphs before him, translucent as glass, twisting into his own visage. Charles stares wide-eyed at himself; a decade has been shaved away, leaving behind a bright-eyed young man with the softness of youth still rounding his cheeks and smoothing the present lines around the tired eyes and mouth he sports these days. His eyes catch the reflection of Shaw moving, hands lifting, sucking the radiation in the room into a sphere of coiling energy. The sphere snaps free, shooting forward and striking his younger visage in the chest, burning a cauterized, gaping hole where his heart hammers frantically. The mirrors shatter as he echoes his own wail…

…and slams awake.

The illusion of light turns the drawn curtains to the colour of dark blood, casting an unnerving ruddiness on the cream of the walls. His hair and back are drenched in the sweat, slimy as he fights his throbbing legs to pull himself into a sitting position. The first pulses of his powers are charging through his brain with all the force of an oncoming migraine, rippling and aiding the rising sense of nausea. Clinging to the blankets tangled around his legs, Charles presses a palm to his forehead, a chant for mercy on his panting breaths. He can feel his mind reaching out in response to his building fear, straining for another mind, feeding on his weakness and lessening his draining control on his ability to keep his jaws firmly clamped around the pain.

 _Charles?!_ The voice wallops him like a strike across the head, nearly sending him pitching headfirst to the floor. He knows the voice of that mind – he dreads the achingly beautiful tenor of its familiarity. It’s been too long, far too long. He yanks away from the blinding glance of white walls and the overpowering familiar echoes of corridors long since unwandered and, nearly hurling his innards with the effort, Charles slams back into his own head. He feels old – withered. Its several moments before he notices a needle pricking the soft flesh of his inner elbow and Hank’s light – if not shaking – voice.

Lying back against the drenched pillow with a soul-shuddering sigh, the voices reducing to silence and the numbness in his spine evening out into dull sensation, Charles distantly recalls that it has been nine years since he heard the whispers of that mind – the mind the mind whose halls he walked with a need to mend, to strengthen, to reform and introduce serenity to… the mind he once cherished with a love like none other. Nine years too long.

Nine years long enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Today is my cat's 7th birthday. Happy Birthday, Precious!


End file.
